


(Love)drunk

by childrenofthesun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's idea of dirty talk may or may not be entirely confined to food metaphors, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Comedy, Crowley is a brat, Crowley uses his Plant Voice, Drunk Sex, Light D/s Dynamics, M/M, Misuse of condiments, Pavlovian tea summoning, Rimming, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), discussions of duck physiology, holy whiskey dick Batman!, orgasmic manifestation of wings, sexy quibbling, this fic is utter lunacy I had so much fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 16:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenofthesun/pseuds/childrenofthesun
Summary: Prompt from the kinkmeme:You know what I don't believe I've seen in this fandom yet? Drunk sex. Specifically: the kind of fumbling, messy, borderline-unsexy sex where both of them should absolutely have sobered up but they're too shitfaced to even remember they can (so like, somewhere between "brain city, whales" and "semi-conscious on the bathroom floor" levels of intoxication).Not asking for Bad Sex fic per se, but something a little less ... intensely emotional than is typical for this ship. It's just two drunk, horny idiots fooling around and trying to remember how their hands and mouths work, not to mention their efforts.





	(Love)drunk

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a bit of a palette cleanser after the heaviness of my previous works, so I present to you, Crowley and Aziraphale at their most ridiculous.
> 
> I wasn't drunk while writing this, but writing this did almost make me feel like I was drunk in parts, y'know?
> 
> Original kinkmeme prompt can be found here: https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/616.html?thread=985448#cmt985448

It had taken the almost-end of the world as they knew it for Crowley and Aziraphale to come to terms with their feelings, and the unhappiness they were causing themselves by not addressing them. Finally out from under the yoke of their oppressive former employers, they'd confessed their millennia-long hidden love for one another. It had all been rather sappy, really. There were a lot more tears involved than either of them were willing to admit.

They'd spent the next few weeks in bed together, making up for lost time. There wasn't even (that much) sex; it was mostly holding each other, gentle caresses of previously off-limits expanses of skin as they whispered their love into the crooks of each other's necks.

After a fashion the intensity of the revelation of the true depth of their feelings subsided, settling into a slow warmth that made them grin stupidly whenever one of them caught the other's eye. They found themselves slipping back into familiar routines - Crowley taking the angel out to dinner, walks in the park, getting completely plastered in the bookshop's backroom. Whilst Crowley insisted he hadn't moved into the bookshop, he'd spent every night there since The Little Apocalypse That Couldn't. Which, truth be told, wasn't all that huge of an uptick on the amount of time he'd spent under the same roof as Aziraphale, albeit that they now shared a bed.

They had to reluctantly concede that they'd been in a relationship since long before the Antichrist had even been a gleam in Satan's eye, they'd just been stubbornly pretending they weren't. Now that they weren't denying it anymore, however, they'd taken to consummating it with enthusiastic frequency.

It was well past the witching hour when they found themselves once again lolling about in the backroom, a small platoon of empty wine bottles standing to attention on the coffee table as their ramblings grew increasingly nonsensical. Aziraphale had discarded his waistcoat a few hours prior, not wanting to stain it with anything, rolling up his shirt sleeves and toeing off his oxfords but leaving the bowtie on. He had to have _some_ decorum, after all. Crowley had draped himself improbably across his armchair, reaching out occasionally to ghost his fingertips along the inseam of Aziraphale's calf. The angel wouldn't have been surprised to find that Crowley was expending a minor miracle to keep himself from falling out of the chair. Then again, it might well have just been his inherently snaky spine at work.

Aziraphale lost the thread of whatever he'd been saying - he had a vague inclination that they'd been discussing marsupials of all things, at great length, but he couldn't be entirely sure - and drained the last of his bottle, only realising his mistake as he swallowed a mouthful of silty dregs. He grimaced, shoving the empty bottle against its comrades on the coffee table with a clink, several of the bottles on the far side of the table teetering dangerously close to the edge.

"Time for bed, I think," he grunted, trying and failing to rise. He let out an annoyed grumble at himself.

"Mm, you _are _insatiable." The demon grinned up at him lasciviously from where his head hung over the armrest, lips cherry-red with wine.

Aziraphale shot him a look. "'S not what I meant."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow, lurching upright and sauntering vaguely towards the angel. He didn't so much lean seductively against Aziraphale's chair as walk directly into it because of his alcohol-impaired depth perception. It had the same effect on Aziraphale regardless. "Oh?" the demon murmured, pretending so hard that he hadn't just drunkenly bashed into the chair that Aziraphale actually forgot. "You want t' go straight to sleep, and that's it?"

The angel backpedalled immediately. "Now, let's not be hasty." He finally managed to drag himself at least mostly upright, drunkenly swaying like a mighty oak tree in a storm. Or, given that he was older than any single living tree on the planet, it might have been more accurate to say that mighty oak trees in a storm swayed like a drunken Aziraphale. "Crowley, please, 'm gonna fall," he whined, clutching at the demon's arm for support, then giggled at his very clever joke.

"Good one," Crowley grunted, suddenly bearing the full weight of the drunken angel against him.

"I want t' go to bed," Aziraphale insisted, stumbling a few paces in the general direction of the backroom door, dragging the demon along in his wake. "For- for the other thing."

Crowley grinned sloppily at him. "That right?"

"'S'right," Aziraphale agreed emphatically, then clawed his way up Crowley's body and kissed him square on the mouth. Well, he tried. His aim was a little off.

He ended up with his tongue buried halfway up the demon's nostril.

"Argh!" Crowley shoved him away almost involuntarily, limbs flailing in a knee-jerk reaction. Aziraphale staggered into a wall with a slight yelp. "Angel, that better've been 'n accident. I love you, but 'm drawing a line at nasophilia."

"Accident," Aziraphale assured, reaching out for him again - both to hold, and to keep himself from falling over. "Want your mouth."

"Oh, 's all right then," Crowley replied, obligingly drawing the angel into a marginally better-aimed kiss. Aziraphale toppled back against the wall, tugging Crowley along with him, then flipped them over so that Crowley was the one being pinned. The demon let out a slight whimper, and the sound _did things_ to the angel, messily deepening the kiss.

"I want to _devour_ you," Aziraphale growled, pressing him harder against the wall. Crowley groaned.

"_Yesss_, angel, yes," he babbled stupidly. "Eat me like a pastry."

"Wanna…" Aziraphale trailed off into a distracted hum, nibbling his way down Crowley's jaw and back up again, diving hungrily back into his mouth. "Want t' put you in a baking dish. Cover you in a honey glaze. Stick you in th' oven at gas mark 5." He didn't care that the steps weren't exactly in the right order. He'd gotten his point across.

"Little weirder," Crowley gasped as the angel's mouth wandered southwards once more. "The sticking part, though, that sounds like a plan."

"Mm, right," Aziraphale agreed, sucking at the demon's collarbone. "We _were_ aiming for th' bedroom, weren't we."

"We should work on getting there," Crowley replied, whining and gasping under Aziraphale's ministrations, and decidedly not moving. The angel made a rumbling noise of approval, and promptly grabbed Crowley by the thighs and hoisted him off his feet.

Crowley definitely didn't let out an embarrassing squeak, ankles locking instinctively behind Aziraphale's back as he found himself comfortably perched atop the soft protrusion of the angel's stomach. He reached down as they passed the coffee table, snagging the one bottle that was still half full. "For the road," he told the angel, bringing the bottle to his lips.

"You lush," Aziraphale replied fondly, knowing full well just how big of a hypocrite he was being as he staggered out onto the main shop floor. He cut a winding path towards the stairs, his unsteady gait having nothing to do with the weight of carrying a full-grown demon and everything to do with the copious amount of alcohol sloshing its way through his system.

(It wasn't a _system_ in the human sense. He didn't have use for a liver, for one. It was far more efficient to allow the alcohol to diffuse directly into his bloodstream. Although his blood did go the most interesting colour if he accidentally injured himself enough to bleed while he was drunk.)

They managed to make it to the second floor without breaking anything, including themselves, Crowley carelessly dropping the now-empty bottle and letting it roll back down the steps. He dropped his head onto the angel's shoulder, muttering as he tugged impatiently at the tartan bowtie keeping him from the tantalising skin beneath Aziraphale's collar. He let out a triumphant noise as he pulled it free, letting it flutter to the ground while he fumbled at Aziraphale's buttons. They came undone, and Crowley scraped his teeth over the angel's neck, shoving his collar aside and laving his tongue over the juncture between shoulder and throat. Aziraphale bit his lip, trying to focus on getting them through the - thankfully open - bedroom door, one of Crowley's ankles knocking against the doorframe as they crossed the threshold. Crowley pushed Aziraphale's shirt the rest of the way off him, letting them fall to the floor. Aziraphale was so drunk that he couldn't bring himself to care enough to reprimand the demon for treating his clothes like that. Instead, he accidentally-on-purpose stumbled to one side to give himself an excuse to press Crowley against the wall again. Crowley let out a soft gasp, clinging to the angel's back, helplessly rolling his hips up against the pressure of Aziraphale's stomach. With a pleased rumble and a grin, Aziraphale left a constellation of bruises up and down the demon's neck. Crowley whined, head hitting the wall with a thunk as he tipped it back to give Aziraphale better access, one hand rising to tangle in the angel's curls to keep him in place.

Aziraphale gently tugged himself free of the demon's grip, but only to slide his hands up under the hem of Crowley's shirt, pushing it up in a torturously slow slide. Crowley locked his ankles behind Aziraphale's back a little more securely, lifting his arms above his head and trying to kiss the angel again before his shirt had even passed his elbows. Aziraphale smiled indulgently, tossing the shirt in the direction of the reading chair behind him. His fingertips coasted over the newly exposed skin, delighting in the tremors he could feel rippling underneath the demon's taut abdomen. Crowley whined into his mouth, hips bucking up against Aziraphale's stomach as he threaded his fingers through the angel's hair once more. Aziraphale peeled him away from the wall, hands firm on the demon's thighs, and steered him towards the bed - the bedspread a mix of buttery cream and pearlescent black, embroidered with golden brocade, with not a frill in sight as a concession to Crowley's more modern tastes.

On the way, Aziraphale's sock-shod feet got tangled in Crowley's discarded shirt and he teetered. His brain was just fast enough to present him with two options: throw Crowley onto the bed, or let the demon be crushed beneath him.

Crowley let out a shrill sound of surprise as he sailed through the air, Aziraphale hitting the floorboards without any grace to speak of. The demon bounced against the mattress and flipped over mid-air, letting out a little 'oomph' as he landed on his stomach. He decided to roll with it, squirming his way out of his jeans and presenting his arse for Aziraphale's viewing pleasure.

Aziraphale clambered to his feet and made an appreciative noise behind him, and Crowley grinned over his shoulder, wiggling his hips temptingly.

"I'd ask if you're all right," Aziraphale said breathlessly, "But I think th' answer's fairly evident." The angel clicked his fingers to summon up some lube, and wound up holding a pot of honey instead. He blinked at it, nonplussed. Perhaps all that talk of glazed pastry earlier had gone to his head. "Oh dear. That won't do." He set the honey down on the bedside table, clicked again, and a bottle of Tabasco sauce materialised in his open hand.

Crowley glared warily at it. "Abs'lutely not," he said. Aziraphale nodded quickly, face reddening from more than excessive alcohol as he set the sauce down next to the honey.

He clicked his fingers a few more times, with similar levels of success. The bedside table was beginning to get crowded (and, presumably, the kitchen pantry was getting rather empty).

"Here, lemme-" Crowley grunted impatiently, flailing his arm. A bottle of olive oil appeared a few feet above the bed and dropped onto the covers. He frowned at it. "Look't you've done," he said accusingly. "You've got me doing it too, now."

Aziraphale stared at the bottle, silent for a moment, then said, "Well, you know, if it was good 'nough for the Greeks-"

"Bless it, just do it, need you, 'ngel."

He shuddered at the sensation of oil being dripped over his waiting hole. And his arse cheeks. And his lower back, and the backs of his calves, and quite honestly more than half of it ended up on the bed rather than on Crowley. Aziraphale haphazardly screwed the cap back on and dropped the bottle on the covers, having to admit his aim hadn't been the best. Still, when he swiped his fingers through the pool of oil gathering in the dip of Crowley's spine, dragging them towards the demon's hole, he stayed right on target as he sank two fingers in.

It didn't matter how utterly soused he got, Aziraphale would always remember enough to know exactly how to pleasure his demon.

Crowley moaned unabashedly at the intrusion, hissing slightly as he pushed back onto the angel's fingers, relishing in the slight burn. Aziraphale pushed in a little deeper, crooking his finger just so, and Crowley dropped his head onto his forearms with a soft gasp, moaning again when Aziraphale's other hand took hold of his hip.

Aziraphale worked Crowley over until he was a whimpering mess, then a for few minutes more for good measure. He pulled his fingers free and leant forward, reaching for the bottle of olive oil once more, but found that his centre of gravity wasn't quite where he'd first thought. He felt himself tipping over, knees sliding out from under him, and it quickly became evident that he was about to fall out of the bed. He grabbed at the covers, but only really succeeded in tangling them through Crowley's legs, bringing the demon most of the way with him. Crowley yelped and managed to keep enough of a hold that only his lower half went off the side of the mattress, leaving Aziraphale to rather sheepishly place his hands either side of Crowley's hips and try to haul himself upright.

In the end, he didn't so much dive his tongue into the demon's arse as fall face first into it. Once there, though, he found himself more than happy to pretend it had been his plan all along to lap up the oil smeared liberally around Crowley's hole and over his cheeks. They would have had to clean up the mess they'd made_ somehow_, after all, and it seemed that miraculously dissipating it was a bit beyond either of them right at that moment. Besides, summoning all those condiments had left him ravenous, and Crowley _was _such a delicious morsel, how was he supposed to resist?

"Oh, _fuck_, 'Ziraphale, _yesss_," Crowley hissed, already sounding wrecked, trailing off into an incoherent moan.

Especially if he was going to go and make noises like that. And Aziraphale _had _promised to devour him earlier.

It wasn't something Aziraphale indulged in often; even knowing that Crowley didn't have a functional GI tract, it still seemed a little_ dirty._ Certainly not behaviour becoming of an angel, at the very least. Though he supposed he did have something of a track record when it came to indulging in activities not generally associated with the standard angelic code of conduct.

Usually, it would take a fair bit of alcohol for him to admit that he did secretly enjoy it. And now, with his approximation of a stomach laden with the better part of half a dozen bottles of wine? Aziraphale would have freely confessed to utterly _adoring _it, the way it made Crowley squirm and whine, the way he could feel the demon's hole flutter under the pressure of his tongue. Or, at least, he would have confessed to such things, had he not been busy pushing said tongue deeper into said hole. Crowley might have had a biological advantage so far as doing interesting things with his tongue went, but that that didn't mean that Aziraphale didn't have his own set of skills in that department. You couldn't spend 6,000 years being a not-so-closeted hedonist without learning a thing or two.

Crowley was making a noise similar to a kettle boiling. Aziraphale had a sudden Pavlovian craving for tea, and a cup of oolong obligingly settled itself amongst the condiments ranged on the bedside table, but Aziraphale didn't notice its sudden appearance. Instead, he sucked at Crowley's rim, tongue flickering, and Crowley's keening reached a pitch only audible to supernatural beings such as themselves and certain breeds of dog.

Aziraphale hummed delightedly, not unlike when he'd savour a particularly scrumptious desert, and Crowley spontaneously grew claws as the sound vibrated along his rim, puncturing the mattress as he scrambled for a handhold to anchor himself with. The net result was that Crowley ended up with most of the covers still remaining on the bed shredded beneath him, and that Aziraphale had to reach up and grab him by the hips to keep him from wriggling away entirely. If that had the side effect of spreading Crowley's cheeks a little wider, giving Aziraphale better access, well, neither of them were about to complain about it.

"Oh, _angel_," he groaned desperately, both arms going elbow-deep through the mattress when Aziraphale slipped two fingers in alongside his tongue. His claws sank into the box spring, clinging to it like he was drowning. "_Blessing shit fuck-_" He lost the ability to form a complete sentence, Aziraphale humming deviously as he stroked his fingertips over the demon's prostate again. "Angel, _please_," he begged, and Aziraphale finally relented, Crowley quivering as the angel's fingers and tongue withdrew.

Aziraphale paused upon seeing just how unfettered Crowley had gotten and frowned disapprovingly. "What've y'done to my bed?"

"Your fault," Crowley replied, entirely unapologetic.

"I fail to see how." He gestured at the numerous holes that had been punched through the mattress, the utterly shredded bedding. "Crowley, th' _springs_ are exposed, 'm not getting into a bed in a state like that."

"All right, all right," Crowley muttered, but felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards at Aziraphale's fussing. "Jus' a sec, I'll get it." He clambered off the bed, momentarily distracted when Aziraphale reached out and pulled him close, the angel's hands sliding greedily over his bare stomach before wrapping around his cock. Crowley forgot what he was doing for a few seconds, just letting himself soak up the sensation, then forced himself to get back on track.

He clicked, and the mattress transformed into an air bed. None of the damage disappeared, though, and it promptly deflated.

Two of Aziraphale's fingers slipped back into his hole, and Crowley jumped a little, inadvertently summoning several pillows and another bottle of olive oil. The angel mouthed lazily at his shoulder and smiled. "I'll just be back here 'til you get it right," he said primly, pushing in a little deeper, tantalisingly close to Crowley's prostate but purposefully avoiding it.

"Can't expect me to focus like this," Crowley groaned, trying to push back onto Aziraphale's fingers and buck into the circle of his fingers simultaneously, and probably would have been able to bend the laws of physics to accomplish it if he hadn't been so sloshed. The angel managed to keep him at bay, making a disapproving sound that went straight to Crowley's cock. He clicked weakly, and the bed turned into a couch. At least it was an undamaged one. "That close enough?" he asked desperately, pressing back again.

Aziraphale hummed and sucked at the junction of his neck and shoulder, leaving a messy trail of bruises. "You can do better," he murmured.

Crowley whimpered, then changed tactics. He dismissed Aziraphale's bed-turned-sofa entirely, and summoned his own bed from his Mayfair flat. He grinned triumphantly.

"That's cheating," Aziraphale pouted, pulling his fingers out.

"'S a bed. You wanted a bed, I got you a bed. Now fuck me on it." He moved forward, expecting the angel to follow, and of course Aziraphale obliged. Crowley slithered onto the mattress in a way that he insisted to himself looked sexy, but really looked more like an intensely inebriated demon miscalculating where the edge of the bed was, smashing his shins on it, and toppling face-first against the covers. He thrust against the black satin, letting out an anticipatory whine when he heard the rustle of Aziraphale taking off his pants, felt the mattress dip behind him.

A few seconds passed, and Crowley hissed impatiently, throwing an irate glance over his shoulder. "C'mon, angel, haven't you teased me enough already?"

Aziraphale gave him an embarrassed look, gaze flicking down momentarily. "Ah… there might be a little problem."

Crowley's brow furrowed, and he turned around further. "You're kidding me," he said flatly as he was confronted with Aziraphale's entirely flaccid penis.

"'M as dis'pointed as you are."

Crowley groaned, dropping his head against the covers and futilely rolling his hips. "Doubt that," he replied, his loosened rim clenching in agreement.

"Hm. Think miracling it's'probably a bad idea, state we're in," Aziraphale muttered, contemplative.

"Sober up?" Crowley suggested, rocking against the bed again.

Aziraphale huffed. "'M too drunk. Don' think I can."

"Right. Lemme think." Crowley's face screwed up like he was attempting complex algebra in his head. "What 'bout ducks?" he slurred after a moment.

A look of alcohol-slow befuddlement crossed Aziraphale's face. "What about them?"

"They've got those spirally cocks. The corkscrew ones." He made a vague twirling gesture with one finger, accompanied by a sound like a slide whistle. "Maybe that'll work? Always wondered what that'd feel like, 'nyway."

"Don't think making it more c'mplicated will help things. Still would need a miracle, at any rate. 'Sides, 'm not drunk enough to try something like _that_."

Crowley raised an eyebrow in what was undoubtedly meant to be an at least tangentially alluring way, but his inebriation made it look more like a rather excitable caterpillar was trying to flee from his face. "Angel, think if you drank any more, you'd disc- docks- you'd be dead."

"Precisely my point," Aziraphale said, enunciating the words carefully like he was trying to prove he was more put-together than the demon. Like he hadn't just summoned half of the contents of the pantry instead of lubricant and then complained about having whiskey dick.

"Fair 'nough," Crowley replied, having already lost the thread of the conversation.

Aziraphale fished around for an alternative solution. "Can't you, I don' know, use some of your demonic wiles to- to encourage things along?"

"Hang on," Crowley grunted, rolling over towards him, but he rolled too far, ending up with his face mashed against the covers somewhere near Aziraphale's thigh. He decided that was close enough. "_Grow better_!" he yelled in the vague direction of Aziraphale's crotch.

"Don't _shout_ at it!" Aziraphale scolded, affronted. "'S doing its best!"

"Y'said I should 'ncourage it. 'S what I'm doing."

"My Effort isn't one of your _ferns_, Crowley," he retorted.

"You know I don't have _ferns_." Crowley scowled at him, then returned to glaring at the angel's cock. He pointed a stern finger at it. "Now, 'm not going to tell you again. You don't want t' disappoint me."

Much to Aziraphale's utter mortification, his cock began to perk up at Crowley's remonstrations.

"Oh, good Lord," he muttered, throwing a forearm across his increasingly reddening face to hide his shame.

"Much better," Crowley crooned, grinning and leaning forward to lick a long, wet stripe from balls to tip. Aziraphale couldn't keep his hips from bucking up toward the warm promise of Crowley's mouth, feeling himself harden further. Crowley obligingly began to suck at the head. The angel let out a soft moan.

"Couldn't you've done that from the start?" he mumbled, his face so deeply flushed by a trifecta of arousal, alcohol, and embarrassment that the colour of it was approaching the infra-red spectrum.

"More fun this way," Crowley replied, partially muffled by the cock in his mouth, then cut off any further conversation by taking the angel in to the root.

There were an abundance of slurping sounds and a general lack of a gag reflex on Crowley's part, and plenty of moaning and feeling wanton on Aziraphale's. It all involved far more saliva than either of them thought had any right to be so enjoyable, Crowley's chin shining with it when he pulled off with a wet pop.

"Why'd you stop?" Aziraphale pouted breathlessly.

"Much as I enjoy how you tassste, 'ngel," he said, wiping his face on a piece of bedding, "I don't want the fireworks goin' off before th' main show. So to speak."

"Ah, right," Aziraphale agreed. "Shall we?"

"Mm, _let'sss_," Crowley hissed, rolling over and biting his lip in anticipation. Aziraphale staggered into position behind him, bending down to briefly press a sweet, if slightly sloppy, kiss against his shoulder.

Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale settled into him with a sigh, draping himself over Crowley's back like the personification of a comfy tartan blanket. Crowley let out a long, low moan as the angel slid home, bottoming out then going still to savour the feeling.

"'Ziraphale," Crowley grunted from underneath him after a few moments of inactivity. "D'you fall asleep?"

"'M'n'ngel," Aziraphale grunted back. "I don' sleep."

"_Move_, then," Crowley ordered, pressing up onto Aziraphale's cock in the limited space he had.

"Can't. Sleeping."

"'Nbelievable," the demon growled, groaning as he pushed up against Aziraphale's bulk and forcibly flipped them over. The angel landed on his back with a less than dignified squawk, Crowley's spine twisting in a decidedly snaky way to keep himself impaled on the angel's cock. "Do all th' work 'round here," he muttered, folding his knees alongside Aziraphale's thighs and rolling his hips backwards as he adopted an exaggerated falsetto imitation of the angel's voice. "Oh, Crowley, your boss seems a little miffed that we've messed up the war he's been waiting six millennia to fight, could y'be a dear _and fucking stop time_?" He slipped back into his own voice. "Yeah, 'course, sure thing, angel, I'll jus' do that, and we can have ourselves a nice chat with th' Antichrist about the nature of humanity. Bloody ridiculous." His tetchiness was marred by a soft moan as the head of Aziraphale's cock dragged over his prostate. "Ohh, 'Ziraphale. Y'feel so good."

If there was one thing that Crowley could do even better drunk than sober, it was roll his hips sinuously. He put that particular talent to good use, rocking himself back and forth onto Aziraphale's cock, relishing in the unfettered moans of the angel beneath him.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whined. "Wanna see your face."

"Shoulda thought of that before y'fell asleep," Crowley responded over his shoulder.

"Please?"

Crowley could feel the weapons-grade puppy dog eyes being laser-pointed at the back of his head. Despite his better judgement, he snuck a glance, only to receive visual confirmation that Aziraphale was, indeed, making The Face - the one with the dewy eyes and trembling lower lip, like Crowley had just told him he planned to spend his afternoon tossing orphaned kittens into the Thames. Crowley let out a long-suffering sigh, shifting himself around and swinging his legs over to straddle the angel's waist.

Aziraphale gave him a soppy, adoring smile. "You really are too good to me, Crowley."

"Yeah, well," he grumbled, biting his lower lip as he sank back down onto the angel's cock. "Not contractually obligated to be bad, anymore."

"Hm," Aziraphale agreed thoughtfully, a slight deviousness creeping across his expression.

The world spun suddenly, and it took Crowley several seconds to realise it wasn't that last half-bottle of wine kicking in extraordinarily late, but because Aziraphale had tipped him onto his back, knees over the angel's shoulders, and set about ploughing into him like he was a field in sowing season.

"Oh, _fffuck_," Crowley gasped, arms flying up to wrap around Aziraphale's back, pulling him closer. "Oh, fuck, angel, _yes_."

Crowley messily chanted his angel's name, syllables punctuated by Aziraphale's deep, rhythmic thrusts, his own leaking cock bouncing against Aziraphale's stomach at every peak.

"Good God, Crowley," Aziraphale groaned between biting and sucking and licking at the sweat-soaked skin of the demon's neck and shoulders, arms curling underneath his back to hold him in place. "You're so perfect- so beautiful, my dear, I love you so, so much-"

"-_Yes_, 'Ziraphale, more, love you, angel, please," Crowley babbled in response, clinging on for dear life, knees in line with his ears as Aziraphale folded him in half. Impossibly, Aziraphale found a deeper well of stamina to draw from, fucking into him with all the power of a draught horse. It was the most energetic he'd seen the angel be since his most-frequented bakery had announced they were retiring the recipe for his favourite tarte tatin, and he'd full-on sprinted twelve blocks to keep them from making such a terrible mistake. He'd moved fast enough that Crowley arrived there after him, even in the Bentley (and he'd even grudgingly allowed the angel to break his no-food-in-the-car-on-pain-of-discorporation rule to bring one of his beloved tarts back to the bookshop with him. After Aziraphale had thoroughly chastised the owner of the bakery for ever entertaining such foolishness and made her promise never to do it again, of course).

Crowley basked in the sensation of being so thoroughly pinned, of being so surrounded by the steady bulk of his angel's body. He breathed in deep - not out of necessity, but to better feel the warm bulk of his angel pressing down on him, keeping him secure and grounded. The warm glow of unconditional love radiated out from his core, deepening into a steady heat that trickled down, and down, slicking their skin with sweat, Crowley's fingers sliding as he tried to maintain a hold of the angel's back, keeping just enough cognisance to keep his nails from turning into claws. The way Aziraphale was jackhammering into his prostate was threatening to send him into a tailspin, and he balled his hands into fists, holding onto the angel with his forearms and wrists, lest his claws make another unauthorised appearance.

"Aziraphale, I'm gonna-"

"Just hold on a moment, if you could, my dear," Aziraphale pleaded, voice tight. "I'll be with you in a moment-"

Crowley let out a thin whine, but obediently stoppered his impending release, letting the tension coil in his abdomen like a tightly wound spring. Aziraphale pulled him closer, head dipping, breath fogging against the demon's collarbone, thrusts becoming shallow. "Crowley," he gasped, wings unfurling behind him as he pulsed inside the demon. Crowley instantly unravelled, orgasm crashing through him with such force that his own wings sprang out, propelling him away from the mattress and smashing his forehead into the angel's. They both reared back in a flurry of limbs and feathers, more stunned than pained, and blinked at each other in shock for a few seconds before they both collapsed into laughter.

Aziraphale recovered first, giving the demon a fond peck on the cheek and tucking his wings away before flopping onto his back. He groaned a little as the motion jostled Crowley, still perched atop his cock, and Crowley let out a decidedly undemonic giggle and rocked his hips backwards. The angel let out another groan, and begged, "Crowley, please, I haven't got the energy for another round like that. Couldn't we just cuddle instead?"

"Oh, all right," Crowley replied, failing to sound put out by the prospect. He eased off of the angel, biting his lip, then grinned as he curled up by Aziraphale's side, wings covering them both like a dark canopy. "You can owe me one."

The angel made an unimpressed sound. "Now who's insatiable?"

Crowley grazed Aziraphale's calf with a wingtip and shrugged nonchalantly. "One doesn't preclude the other, y'know. You make it up to me, then I make it up to you, and so on."

"Well, when you put it that way," Aziraphale huffed, smiling despite himself. He shifted a little closer to Crowley's touch, reaching up to cradle the demon's cheek. "You truly are so lovely, my dear."

"You're pretty great yourself," Crowley murmured, ducking his head against Aziraphale's shoulder in a useless attempt to hide the colour suffusing his cheeks. "We should prob'ly clean up, though." He gave the angel an expectant look. Aziraphale hummed in agreement, lifting one hand just barely off the covers to click his fingers.

They were both instantly covered in honey from head to toe.

"...Oh dear."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] Love Drunk part 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466965) by [SkyAsimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru)


End file.
